Empathy for a Vampire
by Momkat
Summary: Spike develops a conscience and Buffy must battle the warlock Rack; spoilers up to


Dawn walked into the Summer's home, cheerily calling out, "Hey, Buffy? You home? Buffy!" She smiled at the lack of a response, but deciding to err on the side of caution, the fifteen year old scoped out the kitchen, then dashed upstairs. "Willow? You here?" Again the silence gratified her. Dawn stepped into her room, locked the door, then took her small jewelry box off the dresser. She opened the box, removed the false bottom, and shook her treasures onto her bed. She carefully laid them out in the order of theft, admiring how this crystal reflected the light and how that one felt smooth and cool to her fingertip. She bit her lip, and frowned slightly. Why do I steal these things? Anya would kill me if she knew I was lifting things from the Magic Box. And Buffy…I don't know what she would do if she found out. Nag me to death – "Dawn don't do this, Dawn, you better listen to me! You're just a kid, Dawn". Yeah, and you're just some goofy slayer. You wouldn't be anything if you weren't the Chosen One. Why can't they realize I'm grown up? They're always whispering about stuff - sex mostly. Who cares about that? Gross. Well, they can keep their secrets for all I care. I got my OWN secrets.

Flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder, Dawn picked up her newest favorite. It was a lovely ruby ring mounted into what the girl thought was silver. It was cut in the shape of a star, and the facets caught the light and threw it back in fiery sparks of red. Dawn started to put the ring on her finger, then stopped. Hmmmm…better be careful. Last time I put on some Magic Box jewelry the whole town began singing and dancing. And that gross demon, Sweet Daddy Hotfoot was going to take me to hell and make me his queen. As if! The girl swept up her treasures and dumped them back into the box, then carefully replaced the false bottom to hide them. Everything was out of sight but the ruby ring. Dawn tucked it into her pocket, then picked up a magazine and flopped onto her stomach, happily reading about Brittney Spears being named Entertainment Weekly's performer of the year. "Britney beat out a new contender," Dawn read, "named James Marsters for the honor." James Marsters? Thought Dawn. What kind of lame name is that?

Anya stalked around the Magic Box angrily. "Xander. You don't understand. January is the time to do inventory. A counting, if you will, of all items in the store. One then compares the items in the store to the records of sales and the records of orders. That way I will know if anyone has been stealing items from me. And as you know, the items represent money. I demand to know why your friends are not here helping me!"

Xander ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. "First of all honey, they are OUR friends. Second, you didn't offer to pay them. Third, well, there isn't a third YET, but give me time."

Anya glared at her fiancee. "You always defend them. You never defend me. It is not fair, and I do not like it one little bit. Who takes care of the laundry? Who prepares the meals? Who tells you that your're like a Viking in the sack? Me! That's who! I'm just a convenience for you. I'm just like you mother, only younger, prettier, and I give you more sex."

"Whoa, Anya, hold up. My mother has never, ever given my any sex. Xander shuddered. "That's disgusting." He stood behind Anya and wrapped his arms around the pretty young strawberry blonde. "I like this hair color. Why don't you keep it for a while, say maybe 10-15 minutes this time." Anya made a grumpy noise, her body still stiff with her annoyance. He began to lightly kiss the nape of her neck, pleased to see some of the tension begin to leave her body. "Hey," he whispered, "Why don't we sneak into the backroom for a little…" he murmured a sweet obscenity into her ear.

Anya broke away. "Sex. That's all you care about. Not my money." She turned on Xander again. "No inventory – no sex. That's they way I see it. So you can go get your – Yes! I said YOUR friends and make them help me, or you can sleep on the floor tonight."

Now Xander was getting angry. It seemed the closer they got to their wedding date, the more unreasonable his ex-demon lover was becoming. "Fine! But I won't sleep on the floor, sweetheart. And I won't be at the apartment either! So take your inventory and stick it where the sun doesn't shine!" Xander strode to the door, flung it open and left the shop. The tinkling bell over the door echoed in the now silent room. Anya stared after Xander, then sunk down into a chair at the "research" table and began to sob. "I don't understand!" cried Anya. "Stick it where? In Spike's crypt? That makes no sense at all!" And her sobs turned into a wail.

Xander paused on the sidewalk, not sure where to go. Certainly not back to my parents' basement. He considered going to Buffy's house, but quickly re-considered. Yeah, that's all I need is for Anya to see me getting aid and comfort from 'MY' friends. Xander suddenly realized that except for the Scoobies he really didn't have any friends. He needed guy talk now. And for the first time since he left, Xander really, truly missed Giles. He turned down the street, not really sure where he was going, but determined not to spend the night with the volatile Anyanka, ex-vengence demon.

The sun was beginning to set over the small town ironically named Sunnydale, located just above the Hellmouth. In the cemetery, the crash of breaking glass could be heard coming from one of the mausoleums. Then a violent string of curses followed, in a working class British accent. "Bloody, soddin' hell. Bloody soddin' bitch!" A lean, muscular figure was stamping across the floor of the crypt, pacing like a caged tiger. "Stupid, Spike, stupid. She was here, invisible maybe, but she was here. And she wanted to be here, she wanted YOU, no games, no arguments. And what do you do?" Spike slapped a hand to his forehead. "You bleedin' send her away. Arrrggghhh!" He bellowed like a wounded animal. He grabbed a half-finished bottle of bourbon and poured a healthy shot down his throat. "But damn it, woman," he addressed the absent female, "what else can I do? I love you. I love you with every drop of blood in my body. I love you with all my heart, all my soul…" Spike stopped abruptly. He laughed, a high, bitter sound that caught in his throat before it could dissolve into tears. "My soul…that's the problem, isn't it luv?" He sighed, closed his eyes and leaned against the rough, cold wall of the tomb. "My poor, lost soul. Riley, you pathetic bastard. I thought you were the lucky one; possessing her body if not her love. I understand now." Spike took another swig from the bottle, then tossed it hard across the room, shattering it. "Its more than sex, isn't it, boyo? With Buffy, you want the whole package, body, mind, spirit."

"Uh, Spike?" Xander pushed open the door to the tomb. Spike glared at the uninvited guest.

"Too bad the 'invite' thing only works one way," the vampire snarled. "The last thing I want now, Harris, is to look at your beady eyes and listen to your moronic babble." Spike paused, waiting for the man to leave. "Uh, mate, in case you don't understand, get the hell out of my grave!" Spike roared, loath to listen to the drivel Xander was always spouting.

"Hey, hey, calm down Dead Guy Walking. I, uh," Xander looked down, hating to admit anything to Spike. "It's uh, well, I need a place for the night." Xander glanced quickly at Spike, then rushed to finish. "Besides, you owe me, how long did you stay in my basement, huh?"

"Oh, yeah, right, lovely digs you had there, very posh," Spike answered sarcastically. "And you might want to remember that I was tied up at the time, a prisoner – that's what I was, ya stupid git."

Xander refused to rise to the bait, sat down on an old, ratty armchair that was bleeding stuffing in front of an even older television set. "Spike. Look, I know we aren't exactly friends. But you're a guy, and I'm a guy, and, well, what I was thinking, I mean—"

"Wot? You mean you've become some kinda poofta? Like Willow, with all the gayness and all?"

"No! No gayness! No poof-anity. Its Anya. She's become a complete bitch lately." Xander ignored Spike's eyes rolling up to the ceiling and his muttered, "lately?" 

"Maybe its just wedding jitters, I dunno. But its scary – I'm planning to spend the rest of my life married to her, and if this is some kind of psycho preview of our married life, its well, its like 'feets, don't fail me now!'"

"What the hell do I look like to you? Dear Abby? Bugger all!" Spike picked up another bottle, Chivas Regal scotch. He twisted off the cap, took a deep drink, re-capped it and tossed it to Xander. Xander, with the stealthy grace all the Scoobies were familiar with, fumbled the bottle and it crashed to the ground.

"Amazin'. Absolutely amazin'. You been fighting with Buffy for what? Five, six years? And you're still ALIVE?" Spike grabbed another bottle, tequila this time, and handed the bottle to Xander. "Try not to drop this one. I got better things to do than scare liquor store clerks every night."

Xander took a sip, wincing at the hot, peppery taste of the yellowish liquid. "Wow. That's uh, boy that's good tequila." Xander carefully handed the bottle back to Spike. "But, I'm more of a beer man myself. You don't-you don't happen to have..."

"Yeah. In the 'fridge. Help yourself." Spike reclaimed the chair Xander had been sitting in. 

Xander opened the icebox, pushed back a couple of bags of blood, unable to repress an "ugh", then grabbed a beer can. On top of the fridge he noticed a bottle of self-tanner. He popped the top then settled himself across from Spike on a block of stone. It was gloomy in the tomb, but the vamp definitely seemed to have a bronze glow about him. "Spike, are you trying to get a tan?" asked Xander.

"What? Bollocks, no! Uh, its a predator thing, you know, blend in with the sheep so to speak. And why don't you mind your own soddin' business, mate."

"Fine, couldn't care less. So what's up with Anya? How do I deal with this?"

"Deja bloody vu, that's what this is," muttered Spike, reflecting on drinks he had had the year before with Riley, the soldier boy Buffy had been involved with. Ironically, although Spike had chided Riley about possessing the Slayer's body and not her love, he had been truly envious of the guy. He offered a silent toast to Riley, commiserating with the pain they both shared. As delicious as the Slayer's body was, he too, wanted more from her. Riley had wanted to feel needed; Spike's face twisted into a bitter smile; hell, I know she needs me. But is it possible for her to love a monster? Because make no mistake about it Spike old boy, that's what she sees when she looks at you.

Xander interrupted the vampire's musings. "I just don't get it. C'mon Spike. How'd you handle Drucilla? You were involved with a crazy woman, what did you do?"

Still am involved with a crazy woman, Spike thought. "It's simple mate. Real simple. Do you love her? I mean really love her? Is she the first thing you think of when you wake up and the last thought you have when you fall asleep? Does every song you've ever heard in your life remind you of her? When you smell her scent, does your heart beat faster? Can you imagine life without her?" Spike struggled to keep the emotion out of his voice as he said, "When you think of never, ever seeing her again, does your throat constrict and your gut hurt and you finally understand what hell really is?"

Xander, usually cracking wise, was solemn. There was a message here if he could just figure it out. "Yes. Yes to all of it. For all her weirdness, I love Anya. I will love her forever."

"Then you stupid, soddin' pimple on the ass of the world, TELL HER. And keep telling her. Tell her everyday, and show her. Flowers. Open doors for her. Follow her with your eyes and let her know she is every poem, every star, every dream of beauty you've ever had. And if that doesn't work---"

"Yeah?"

"Try torture."

"Did that work?"

"Well, Dru liked it."

"Dawn? You home?" Buffy called up the stairs. No answer. "Hmmm. Seems like she's always off somewhere. Maybe I should get her a cell phone. Too early to be officially worried." Buffy picked up a box of cookies from the kitchen counter, grabbing one out and munching it. "Yum. Nummy cookies." She sat down on the couch and began to absently channel surf with the t.v. remote control. The front door opened, and Buffy's best friend, Willow came in.

Willow was tired. Witchcraft had become her easy fix for every problem big and small that life tossed her. Fighting the addiction had become the hardest thing in the sweet faced red-head's life. 

"How were your classes?" asked Buffy.

"Okay. We got a new philosophy professor, Dr. Morgan. She seems to really know her stuff, like Maggie Walsh, but without the heartless-Frankenstein-insane-initiative aspect. I'm tired, tho' Buffy. Really tired." Willow sighed and dropped down onto the couch next to Buffy. "You know how tired I am? I'm so tired I can't even reach into that box of cookies and get one, and they're like, you know, my favorite cookies."

Buffy smiled at her friend and handed her a cookie. "Have you seen Dawn? She didn't come home after school again. It's really getting me steamed. Like I don't have enough problems, now she's acting up...again."

"Buffy, Dawnie's a sweet kid, and I don't think you have to worry about her. She's got a good head on her shoulders."

"Yeah, but this is Sunnydale, and I'd like her to KEEP her head, if you know what I mean."

Willow nodded then made a puppy dog begging sound and glanced at the cookie box. Buffy laughed and tossed her another one.

"Oh. Buffy...gross...you just tossed your cookies!"

Buffy giggled, "Will? Are you channeling Xander?"

Spike was again pacing his crypt. Plenty dark now, he could go stalk, uh, visit Buffy. Yeah, right, mate. Go visit her. Haven't had your ass kicked all day, have you now? Spike grabbed his long black leather coat and left the crypt. He wandered through the graveyard and exited on a deserted city street. Almost deserted, that is. He heard a familiar laugh and stepped back into the shadows. His eyes narrowed as he saw Dawn and three other teenagers ambling down the street. She was with a girl and two boys.

"Hey, guys, hey, did you see me tonight? Huh, pow! Right in the kisser. Was that vamp ever surprised!" Dawn laughed delightedly again. "EEE-Yaaa!" Dawn yelled, doing a passing good spin kick.

Spike stepped out of the shadows. 

"Dawn, look out!" shouted one of the boys. "Vamp at 3:00 o'clock!"

Dawn turned in the direction indicated. "Oh. Uh, that's not a vamp, I mean, that's Spike. He's the one I told you about. He can't hurt anyone."

Everytime someone says that, a twinge of pain would hit the vamp in the stomach. "Can too," he said defensively. "I could make a nice little meal out of you and your little mates here." Spike put on his game face, and all four teens backed up.

"Spike stop it. These are my friends. This is Melissa, Jack, and Kyle," Dawn introduced her buds.

"Please to meet ya," answered Spike. The teens stared at the vampire in awe.

"Wow," whispered Melissa to Dawn. "You weren't kidding. He really is a hottie."

"Listen, Chicklet, I 'spect big sis is starting to have a worry over you. Why don't you say good night to your pals here, and hoof it back to the house."

Jack, a tall gangly boy spoke up, "He always tell you what to do, Dawnie?"

Spike vamped out again and snarled in the boy's face, "Yeah. I do. You got a problem with that, Peaches?"

In a very small voice Jack replied, "No, sir."

"Spike!" Dawn squeaked. "Don't you scare my friends. Melissa, you take this, I'll get it back from you tomorrow." Dawn handed a small duffel bag to the mousy girl with the very big glasses. "By guys. I'll see you tomorrow." She dropped her voice to a whisper, "Same place, same time."

Spike pretended to not hear the exchange, but as usual, the vampire missed nothing. The three kids turned crossed the street, calling out good-byes. Melissa ran back, stared again at the now-normal faced Spike. "Good night, Mr. Uh, Spike." Spike favored the girl with his famous, heart-melting lady-killer smile. Another quick whisper to Dawn, "Wow. He is soooo cool!" Then the girl dashed across the street to join her friends.

"Don't forget to wash behind your ears, kiddies," Spike called out. He turned to Dawn and said "Got any secrets you want to share, pet? No? Not for me to pry, guess you'll tell me when you're ready. But for now, little sister, I'm gonna walk you home. But I'm not coming in. If Buffy's gonna be ragin' at you, I just as soon miss the fall out."

"You know Spike. You really are the best. Buffy or the others would be nagging me to death about what's going on in my life. You accept what I'm willing to tell or not tell." They walked on in silence til they reached the Summer's home. Swiftly, Dawn planted a peck on the vampire's cheek. "Thanks, Spike." And she dashed inside the house. 

Spike stood there staring after the girl. He was feeling strange. Her innocent kiss had done something to him, woke up memories that he thought had died with William the Bloody, his human self. He remembered being a small boy, walking across a field of flowers, his hand tucked into the warm, comforting hand of his mother. They were picking flowers, flowers to place on the grave of his little sister that had died of influenza the winter before. Something about Dawn reminded him of the pitiful little girl he and his mum buried so very long ago. He looked back at the house, as if he could see through its walls and see Dawn again. If anyone ever hurts a hair on that girl's head…he began to think. What kind of thought was that for a vampire? he wondered. Dear God…what is happening to me? And Spike, vicious vampire, demon, murderer, monster, began to weep over his lost mortality, his conscience, his soul. 

"Dawn Summers, don't you walk away from me!" Buffy declared angrily. "I'm talking to you Dawn."

"More like you're talking AT me," replied the equally angry teenager. 

"I want to know where you've been. It's well past dark and you know you're not supposed to be out then, at least not without one of us."

Dawn glared at her older sister, "Why not?"

Buffy rolled her eyes at the obstinate girl. "Because brainiac, it's dangerous out there!"

"Look at me Buffy. I mean it! Look at me! I'm just as old as you were when you became the Slayer. How many nights were you out…all night? At least I'm not out screwing a vampire!" Dawn meant Buffy's first love, Angel, but Buffy reacted, as usual, without thinking.

Buffy's hand lashed out before she could stop it. She slapped Dawn across the face, rocking the girl's head back. Instantly she regretted it, knowing Dawn had no idea about the earth-shattering sex she had recently had with the lean, blonde vampire.

Dawn burst into tears and raced up to her room, slamming the door. Buffy followed her, knocking on the door, her own tears threatening to spill down her face. 

"Dawn, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it." Buffy leaned against the door, her head resting against her upraised arm. There was no answer. Don't blame her. I wouldn't talk to me, either. Why do I lose it like that? How can she push all my buttons so easily? I'll give her some time, beg for forgiveness when we've both calmed down. Buffy walked over to the top of the stairs and sat down, determined to be the first thing Dawn sees when she finally opens the door.

Outside the house there was a slight thump on the overhang beneath the upstairs window. Dawn had fled her room Buffy-style, through the opened window and down to the street. She dashed the tears away from her eyes, and headed away from home. She didn't notice Spike still standing in the shadows near the house. But he saw the girl, and true to his promise to Buffy, followed so he could protect her.

Willow was in her bedroom, unable not to hear the earlier storm downstairs and Buffy now crying in the hallway. But Will had her own problems and realized that the two sisters would have to work this out on their own. The phone rang. I can at least take care of that for them. Willow answered the extension on her night stand. "Hello?" She paused to listen to the voice on the other end. "Well of course we will! Think of it as an early wedding present, but without the ribbons and cards and stuff... Tomorrow, first thing in the morning... No problem!…. Okay….Sure. Bye." Willow grinned happily then tucked herself into bed with a copy of some self-help book one of the Scoobs had way too obviously left lying around. "Step 4…" she said softly, and turned the page.

Spike padded softly down the street, a safe distance from the little bit. Where the devil is she going? This is some little strip mall place… He watched Dawn enter a building. Once the door was shut, he moved closer to read the sign on the door. "Master Meem's Tae Kwon Do Center". Bloody hell? Spike wondered. He opened the door and slipped inside. Peaking around a corner he saw Dawn bow to her sensei, then begin to pummel the living crap out of a hanging bag. Spike registered surprise on his face, then a grudging admiration. Not bad, Niblet…not bad at all. Pretty good form you got there. Not as flashy as the Slayer's but efficient and serviceable. All these evenings Dawn had been sneaking out. She's been training, she has. Not a bad idea if you're going to live on the Hellmouth. He remembered the duffel bag Dawn had left with the other girl. Her gear for class, most like. 

"Excuse me," said the man Dawn had bowed to. "Are you interested in lessons?"

"Er, uh, no…just checking the place out." The man was slight but moved with the easy grace of a consumate athlete. He bowed to Spike who awkwardly returned it. Spike left the gym and crossed the street. No point in upsetting the little bit – think's she's got a bit of a secret, she does. And I'm not gonna tell, lessin' it's the only way to keep Buffy off Dawn's back.

Spike drifted back across the street and into an alleyway, eyes narrowed for any hint of trouble. He got comfortable on a box, and waited for Dawn to finish beating whatever the bag was standing in for. She's not ready for a real fight, yet, I warrant. Backin' up the Summers' women…there's worse jobs for a bloke, I reckon. Spike chuckled softly at Dawn and her mates. Guess they will be the Scrappy doos, the next generation. "Ah, yeah. I love that cartoon," he said softly to himself.

Across town, a worse part of town populated by winos and prostitutes, the destitute and addicted, a heavy set figure emerged from a swirling mist. It was Rack. The warlock sent out tendrils of energy from his fingertips; they glowed greenly. "Ahhh. I can feel it. …it is nearby…and now…its time to find it." The warlock began softly singing a tune from "West Side Story." "Somethings coming, I don't know what it is, but it is coming this way...the air is humming..." as the wisps of enery wrapped around him like a cloak just as he popped out of sight.

End of "Empathy" Part I

Xander was pounding on his apartment door, which was making him even angrier because he had left his keys at home – home, on the other side of the door. Anya had to be in there, where else would she be? "Anya, I mean it! Open this door. Open it, or I swear to God I'm gonna break it down! Anya! Okay. Fine. One, two, three…" but just as he was throwing himself at the door, it opened. Xander fell heavily into the room. Damn! There goes my cool entrance! He picked himself up off the floor, cleared his throat, and looked at Anya, "Anya…" he couldn't finish because she interrupted him.

"Xander, Xander, my love, I'm so sorry!" gushed Anya. She wrapped her arms around him and covered his faces in little kisses. "Where have you been? No, I didn't mean to ask that, I was worried, it's dark, I didn't know where you were. No one did. I called Buffy and she said she hadn't seen you. Oh, Xander, my Xander. You must never do that again. We must never quarrel like that again." And again she covered him with kisses. 

Xander returned the ex-demon's kisses with equal if not greater passion. "Anya, baby, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I don't want us to fight either." And with that, Xander scooped his fiancée up into his arms, kicked open the bedroom door, and began to make up by making love.

Dawn, watched by Spike, was able to sneak back into her room the same way she had left – through the window. Although the fire in her cheek where Buffy had slapped her had cooled, she was still angry at the unfair treatment she had (literally) received at her sister's hand. She flopped back onto her bed, trying to figure out a way to make Buffy treat her with more respect, and a hell of a lot less violence. My own mother never slapped me! She fumed. Buffy hurt my arm last year, but this is a lot worse. I hate her! She's really going to have to do some serious crawling if she thinks I'm every going to speak to her again. And if I ever get my black belt…and visions of revenge pulled the girl into happy kicking-Buffy's-butt dreams.

Buffy put her hand out towards Dawn's door, hesitated, then pulled it back. Instead she turned and went to Willow's room. "Will? You still awake?" Buffy whispered.

"Mmmphh?" Willow answered sleepily. "Oh sure, kinda anyway. Come on in." She snapped on the bedside light and scooted over on the bed to make room for her friend. 

"Who was that on the phone earlier?" asked Buffy.

"The first time was Xander. He wants us to go to the Magic Box tomorrow and help Anya with her inventory. He said she was really stressing over it. I said we would, it being Saturday do nothing day."

"Inventory? With the counting, and jotting, and sneezing from no dusting of merchandise inventory?" Buffy wrinkled her nose.

"That's sounds about right. The second call was from Anya. She was looking for Xander but he hasn't been here. I think maybe they had a fight or something. She had that stuffy nose 'I've been crying voice'. You know, sort of like the one you have right now.""Oh, Willow," Buffy said as she burst into tears, "I had a fight with Dawn. I-I slapped her."

"Buffy, no!" Willow's eyes grew wide. As the product of a very progressive home, the idea of hitting a child was anathema to the red-head. "Buffy. Have you thought about child rearing classes?""What-huh?" Buffy blinked away her tears.

"Yeah, you know, for new mothers."

Buffy stared at her friend. "Will. That's for new mothers with new babies. Dawn acts like one, but she really, really isn't one."

"Well, it looks like you've got some major groveling to do. What did she say to make you hit her?"

Buffy looked away, embarrassed. This sick fling with Spike, which she was determined was finally, completely over, is what had sent her over the edge. But she couldn't tell Willow her dirty little secret. "Ah, well, something about me screwing a vampire."

"Oh. OOHH. Wow. Dawn knows about Angel? But Buffy, you can't go around hitting people just because you don't like what they say. It just ain't civilized," Willow said, putting a western twang in her voice. 

"I know that. Otherwise I would have killed Xander years ago."

Willow smiled. So tired. Everything was just so…exhausting. "Maybe it will look better in the morning. Are you going patrolling?"

"Uh, oh, I don't know. It seems quiet tonight. Maybe I'll just take the night off. I'm entitled right? I mean, do I have to be the Slayer 24/7 all the time?" Buffy rationalized. Besides, after the night I've had, I just know I'll wind up somewhere I shouldn't be…like Spike's incredibly big, comfy, soft, bouncy, sexy bed... 

Spike kicked the door to his crypt open. He staggered into the tomb, weak and almost delirious. He grabbed the bottle of tequila he had opened with Xander earlier and with shaking hands, pulled the top off. He took a deep drink, hoping the alcohol would dull whatever was ailing him. It was the only medicine he knew. He felt hot, feverish, which was absurd. Vampires don't get sick. The bottle of tequila slipped out of his hand, but landed on a scrap of carpet. It didn't break, but the liquid seeped out of the bottle. Suddenly the very smell of it made him want to retch. He fought back the urge and stumbled to his bed, pulling his coat and shirt off and dropping them to the floor. Spike collapsed into the bed, curling up into a fetal position. Surely whatever this curse was, it would pass soon...

The Summers' kitchen was flooded with the morning light. Buffy was standing at the window, staring out at the day. Dawn. How am I going to get her to forgive me? Guilt was almost overwhelming the young woman.

Willow came in, opening the ridge and getting out a carton of orange juice. "Morning. You want some O.J.?" she asked brightly.

"You're perky today - you're perky woman," observed Buffy.

"Yeah, I know. I slept really good last night. First time in a while, I think, maybe," she said hopefully, " the worse is over, knock on wood," then she quickly added, "which is a tradition, not a magic thing."

Buffy gave her friend's arm a squeeze. "I hope so Will. Was, uh, Dawn up?"

"Yeah, but very quiet. I'm not surprised at the silent treatment and all. We've both been pretty horrible."

Buffy nodded. "I can't believe I lost it so bad last night, slapping her like that. And I know better, Will. Mom never hit us."

Dawn walked into the kitchen. Waves of cold anger were radiating from the girl. She silently opened a cabinet door and got down a glass, then poured herself some juice.

"Dawn?" said Willow hesitantly. "Xander called last night and said he needed a Scoobie favor."

"So? I'm not a scoobie. I'm just a punching bag," she said pointedly, eyeing Buffy.

"Dawn," Buffy began, but the teen turned her back on her. "No, please, listen to me. I know what I did last night was unforgivable."

Dawn refused to turn around, but she was at least listening.

"And, and you are a Scoobie," added Willow encouragingly. You're just a, ah, a Scoobie junior."

Dawn stared at Willow. "That is sooo lame."

Buffy tried again. "I lost it last night. The bills, the house, the slaying, no Giles, God, everything in my life is so messed up right now." The Slayer left out her troubling attraction to a certain blonde vamp.

"And me," said Dawn turning around to face her sister. "Don't forget about me. I was never part of the Slayer bargain, was I? You could be free, but you have to take care of little sister, little pain in the neck, right? Dawn Summers. Just one more mess for the Slayer to take care of," and with that Dawn's eyes filled with bitter tears.

Buffy wrapped her arms around her little sister. "No, oh, no Dawn, no. I love you. I love you so much. Do you drive me crazy? Yes. And I drove Mom crazy. She just handled it better...she had more practice. But I'm trying...and I'll try harder. That social service woman scared me so much last week. If I ever lost you..." and the very thought of that loss sent Buffy into her own sobs. Willow couldn't stand it. She, too, burst into tears and the three hugged and wept together.

"Good morning ladies. Xander's inventory cab service is at your..." then Xander stopped, staring at the crying females. He grabbed his throat and made choking sounds, "Uh...can't breath...too...much...estrogen..." The he intentionally stumbled into the group, forcing them to catch him. It worked. The girls' tears turned to giggles.

"Dawn, I know we have more to work out...talk about...but do you still love me?" asked Buffy.

"Hmmmm. Have to think about it. Tell you at the Magic Box. Last one in the car is a rotten egg!" And with that Dawn rushed out the door.

Spike moaned, gripped in a fever dream that was torturing him. Victim after victim was staring at him, faces melting into this one, into that one. He mumbled incoherently, sometimes, crying out "I'm sorry!" Or just a mumbled, "No no no no no..."

There was one face, that of a little tyke probably not more than four. Her face was smudged with coal dust; she had been hiding from the monster that had just slaughtered her family. The dream was relentless. Spike saw himself drag the terrified child out of the coal bin, a grinning monster smeared in blood. "Now, now angel, I'm just going to send you to your mummy!" And with that the vampire bit her neck, and finally ended her terror. He tossed the child away like a broken toy. "Hmm. Maybe I should have saved you for Dru, eh? But how sweet the adrenaline makes the blood." Spike watched his dream-self in horror, then looked back at the poor doomed child. Her face had changed - it was Dawn. A strangled cry came from his throat, then he mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.

The Scoobs were exhausted, all except Anya. She was elated her inventory was at last complete. She picked up the lists the gang had written and hugged them to her chest. Her voice shook with emotion as she said, "Thank you. You have helped me account for my stock. Which represents money."

Xander put his arm around her shoulder and playfully tugged a curly brown tendril. Yesterday it had been straight strawberry blonde hair. How and why she changed hair styles so often was a complete mystery, and one he had no intention of asking about.

The bell over the shop announced another visitor. Tara, Willow's estranged lover, came into the shop. She darted a shy glance at Willow, who looked away, biting her lower lip.

"Hi..." Tara said softly.

"Tara!" Dawn shouted as she bounded out of her chair and hugged her friend.

Greetings were exchanged and Willow mumbled a small, "Hello."

"You missed the inventory. You would have been a great help. You are most methodical. But, Buffy, Willow, Dawn, and Xander were surprisingly professional," Anya said crisply.

"We're mostly dust," replied Buffy, cleaning a smudge of dirt off Dawn's cheek.

Willow sidled up next to Tara. "So, how have you been?"

Tara tried to maintain eye contact, she had been really working on it, but strong emotion had a tendency to make her look anywhere but at the person she should look at.

"Uh, good. Pretty good. I was, uh, on my way to school. Dr. Morgan is giving a special seminar this afternoon on souls and stuff. Aren't you taking her class? I-I thought I saw you there the other day."'

"You're taking that? I didn't see you."

"Well, there's a lot of people...students...in there..." Tara's voice trailed off.

Willow picked up the conversation, her natural enthusiasm taking over. "Yes, it holds about a hundred, I think, you know, mass education stuff. She's really interesting. Kinda of like a girl Giles, but without the elbow patches, and British voice, and the man thing."

"Gross!" cried Dawn.

"No! No, not that man thing...never mind! I meant maleness. Man. Thing." Willow grinned and continued, "Did you hear what she said about magic? About it being a child's religion? Oh, it made me mad, like grrrrrr angry, but when she explained it, it kind of made sense." Willow paused, then another little smile, "I would like that. The going to the lecture." 

"Will! You were supposed to go shopping with me and Dawn. Help me buy something to earn her forgiveness," said Buffy.

Tara looked confused at the statement.

Dawn was happy to explain. "Buffy went insane last night. She slapped me. Now she has to make up for it by a major shopping."

Buffy hung her head down. "I - just lost it. But I promised, didn't I Dawn, that it will never, ever happen again. I swear I'll never hit you again."

Willow chirped up, "But what if she's possessed sometime by something evil?"

"Or gets hysterical?" added Anya. "Sometimes that requires a slap."

"Stop it, you guys!" wailed Dawn. "No hitting, never at all!"

Buffy smiled at her little sister, "No hitting, never at all. Slayer's promise!"

Willow looked stricken with guilt. "Maybe I could meet you later? I would like to hear the lecture. Maybe you could come by...when does it end, Tara?"

"Four o clock, I think."

Buffy realized that Willow truly wanted to spend some time with Tara. "Sure, I'll stop by school--Vaden's Hall, philosophy building, right?"

Buffy had finished shopping for Dawn, buying the girl a pair of boots that were really beyond their budget, but guilt knows no price tag. Buffy had left Dawn back at the Magic Box to eat pizza with Xander and Anya. Despite the fight last night, Buffy felt good. Tara and Willow were talking, she and Dawn had made up. Now if she could just figure out how to deal with this fixation with Spike...

The lecture hall was dark, slightly illuminated by slides being projected on a screen. A middle age woman wearing glasses was talking. Buffy scanned the room (being a Saturday, not very many people had shown up) and saw Willow near the front of the room. Buffy quietly slipped into a seat next to her. "Oooh," Buffy whispered, "She DOES remind me of Giles." Willow shushed her, but a tiny giggle escaped anyway.

Dr. Morgan continued her lecture, clicking a remote control to change the projected image. "So that's part of the controversy. Are souls eternal? Are we born with them? Do we develop them? Are they a gift? Did man always have a soul? This slide is a picture of man 2 million years ago. Pretty much looks like an animal, don't you think? Did this creature have a soul? Again, there are no hard and fast answers. That's where faith comes into the picture. What about this creature?" she said as she clicked the remote again. "Homo erectus. Did he have a soul?"

Buffy found herself interested despite herself. She leaned forward to hear better.

"There must have been a transition somewhere, if we all today truly possess a spark of divine fire. Do souls evolve as well as our bodies? Our hairy ancestors apparently left their dead where they fell, no ceremony, perhaps no sorrow. But then we have Neanderthal." Another slide flashed on the screen. "Not very pretty, is he? But something amazing was discovered with him. He buried his dead. With flowers. We have no idea what they may have believed, but this seems to indicate some belief, some hope of an afterlife. So how did we get from this ape like being (another click, a very monkey-ish creature appeared) to this?" And then, click, an artist's rendering of a Neanderthal burial. "So again, do souls evolve? Self-sacrifice, love, compassion...perhaps these were the seeds that planted our souls. Most animals will protect their young, but look at the incredible things we will do for not just our children, but people we have never met. Look at the horrible tortures and deaths religious martyrs have faced. That kind of love, the love to protect, to make the ultimate sacrifice of one's life, is something no mere animal is capable of." Dr. Morgan paused briefly, then smiled. "I don't know the answers, either. But sometimes I feel that our ancient ancestors developed souls, out of the natural instinct of protecting their offspring. From that instinctual protection, we have expanded our love, our compassion, our empathy to well beyond our family groups, our clans, to our states and nations." She paused again. "Well that's it. Lots of questions, and not one single answer. Welcome to the wonderful world of philosophy."

During the lecture Buffy sat as if mesmerized. Visions of Spike bombarded the Slayer. Spike, almost dead from Glory's torture that he had endured to protect Dawn. Spike at her side, fighting, suffering, never giving in, no matter what the cost to him. Spike listening to her, never advising, never correcting, just letting Buffy be Buffy. And he had a battle rage that matched her own.

"Willow. Uh, I forgot something. I-I have to go. I'll see you at the shop. Sorry." Buffy ran out of the lecture hall and towards the cemetery.

"Spike?" Buffy called out. The door to the tomb was wide open, and her Slayer senses were on alert. "Are you here?" Then she heard a low moan from the darkened interior. Buffy peered at the figure writhing on the bed. "Spike!" Buffy cried. She went to him, touching him lightly on the forehead. He was burning up with fever. Is that even possible, Buffy wondered. But yeah, he was on fire practically. "Spike. Its me, Buffy. Can you hear me?" Buffy was really worried now. The vampire's face was drawn, haggard, agonized, dark circles under his eyes. Buffy had felt Dawn's face for fever, but this was many times worse. He felt like he was registering 120, 130 degrees. "Spike, I'm going for help." The was no acknowledgment. Buffy raced out of the tomb and back to the Magic Box.

She burst through the door. "It's Spike. Something's wrong. He's burning up with fever," she cried breathlessly. 

"Is he sick?" asked Anya. "I didn't think vampires could get sick."

Buffy's face was stricken. "I think-I think he's dying."

"So what do you think?" asked Rack. "Interesting idea, anyway. The ring, the star of Dante. Creating the Nine Circles of Hell right here in SunnyD."

Amy stared at him. "Like in the book, The Inferno?"

"What's the matter, little witch. Scared? Scared of releasing Satan himself?" Rack laughed cruelly. All Nine Circles. Starting with lust, of course, and ending with the greatest sin, at least according to Dante." He pulled the girl to him, feeling a little lusty himself.

"What's that?" asked Amy, not too sure she really wanted to know.

"Why betrayal, of course. Awwww, are you scared? Do you think that's blasphemy? That's ok. It'll be a blast for you, too."

Buffy and her friends were standing at Spike's bed. The vampire was shaking violently, as if he were freezing, but still his temperature continued to climb.

"What's causing this?" asked a frightened Buffy. This was disease. This was something the Chosen One could not fight, could not beat back. Memories of her mother's death washed over the Slayer. "Is it like that time Angel was poisoned?"

Tara stared intensely at the vampire, then gently placed her hands on his temples. "No. This isn't poison. This is from inside of Spike. Something he has brought upon himself." She looked at the group. "I know that makes no sense, but its what I feel."

"We've got to get that fever down, now." Buffy had to act, it was her nature. "Dawn, down below is an old claw footed tub with a water hook up. Turn it on, fill the tub with cold water.

Dawn climbed down the opening Buffy had indicated.

"Xander, help me get him down there" Xander and Buffy half carried, half dragged the dream-tortured man down below, Willow and Tara following.

They placed him gently in the tub, but the cold water was turning warm from the intense heat the vampire was generating. "Willow," Buffy commanded. "We need ice. A lot of ice."

Willow turned to leave, to go get ice from the nearest store.

"No! I mean we need ice, Willow. Now."

Willow understood what Buffy was asking, but she was afraid. To use magic now, just when she seemed to have the worse of the addiction behind her... Willow looked at Tara, pleading with her eyes for help, for guidance. 

Tara nodded. "Do it, Willow. This is good magic. There has to be a place for it."

Willow took Tara's hand in her own. "Help me? Please?" she begged softly.

The two women clasped hands, whispering a few magic words. The tub was full of ice, Spike was covered in it. But it, too, was melting rapidly from his body heat.

Buffy commanded, "More!"

Again the tub was filled. Spike's body stiffened for a moment. He cried out in agony again, then was still. Buffy touched his head. "Better. I think...I think the fever is broken."

Tara whispered to Willow, "Are you ok?"

Willow nodded slowly. "I am. I am ok. That didn't make my head hurt. Magic sometimes made my head hurt, you know."

Tara looked at her dearest companion. "It was just a little magic. Baby stuff."

Buffy and Xander hauled Spike from the icy tub, then carried him back to his bed.

"Xander, would you take Willow and Dawn home? I'm going to stay for a while, make sure the fever doesn't come back."

Although tempted to make a smart remark, Xander kept his mouth shut. He didn't much care for Spike, but the guy had given him some good advice last night. Xander herded their friends out of the gloom of the mausoleum, and into the fresh air of the early night.

Spike opened his eyes, still stricken with pain, with horror. "Buffy?" he said weakly.

"I'm here, Spike." She kissed his forehead gently. "I'm right here."

End of "Empathy" Part II 

by Momkat

"Empathy" Part III

by Momkat

Spike looked around, no Buffy. He weakly pushed himself into a sitting position. Oh, my bleedin' noggin'. He tried to remember the events of the night before, but what ever was on fire in his head apparently was burned to cinders. But I could have sworn Buffy was here. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled under him and he would have gone crashing to the ground except for a pair of small yet strong arms.

"What are doing out of bed?" Buffy asked, doing her best Big Nurse imitation. "I've brought you something to eat." She gently put Spike back to bed, then picked up a brown bag.

"I'm not hungry," Spike said petuantly. "What is it? 

"What do you think? Chicken soup."

"What? You're loony." 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "No, its not soup. Blood, of course. You need to build your strength up."

Spike wrinkled his nose distastefully, "Pig or cow?"

"Human. No, I didn't kill anyone, but I kind of, ah, borrowed some from the hospital," then she hurriedly added, "I left money."

"Still not hungry. Put it in the fridge."

"But Spike-", then she paused, "Listen to me...begging you to drink blood. The 'eeeuuu' factor alone is mind boggling." She turned to take the bag to the icebox, unaware of Spike's appreciative eyes following her well shaped bottom.

Buffy came back and perched on the edge of the bed. Spike's hand absently rubbed her thigh, as he smirked, "Look at you, Nurse Buffy, come to play doctor with me."

"I don't think you're up for--" but she was cut off as Spike grabbed her hand and placed it on himelf, under the sheets. "Uh, well maybe you are, uh, up, for that, but I'm not. I'm exhausted. Nursing is a very demanding profession." She removed her hand, but not before Spike snaked an arm around her neck and pulled her down on top of him.

"I want you," he whispered into her ear. He attempted to roll her over, under him, but suddenly he felt dizzy and had to fall back.

"You're as weak as a kitten," Buffy scolded him. "And there is going to be none of that nonsense until you're well."

"Then I'm glad I'm a fast healer, luv."

Buffy backpedaled, as she tended to do with Spike and his advances. "Or no nonsense, ever. That's what I meant to say. No. None."

Spike sighed, and looked away from Buffy. "Fine. I don't have the energy to spar with you now. Or play your stupid games. Why don't you just bugger off. You can send me a get well card, if you've a mind to."

Buffy stared at the vampire. His voice was sad, melancholy, unusual for Spike. He could be sweet (rarely), angry, tender, or devilishly sarcastic, but this was a side of Spike she was not familiar with. It reminded her of the time he was heart-broken over Dru, but he was drunk much of that time, so she wasn't sure she could compare the two emotional states.

"Okay, I'll leave." And with that the Slayer got up a left the tomb without a backward's glance.

Spike kept his eyes on the ceiling, unaware of the tears that slipped along the sides of his face.

Buffy really was exhausted. She had sat by Spike's bed the entire night, stroking his hair when he would cry out in his nightmares, and the nightmares seemed to roll along til sunrise. She entered her house; all was quiet and that was a relief. She climbed the stairs, hoping to get a couple of hours of rest. I'm glad its Sunday, everyone should be sleeping in, she thought. Buffy kicked off her shoes then fell into bed. She was asleep almost instantly.

The kid stumbled down the street, gripping his gut as spasm after spasm of cramp washed through him. He careened down an alley like a dying pinball, finally coming to rest against a boarded up delivery entrance, sweat pouring down his face. His eyes were completely black, looking almost as if they had been gouged out by something sharp and ugly. It wasn't like this last time. Last time with Rack had felt good, he felt like he was flying, hell maybe he had been, it was crazy and mixed up. But this, this was some kind of sickness, some kind of addiction. The boy, tall, skinny with pimples, had got interested in magic through a group at Sunnydale High. From there it hadn't taken him long to find out another group, one not so kid friendly as the one Jack, Melissa, Kyle and Dawn had formed. 

"Hey, whasa matter, kid? Lost?" the voice spoke, but it was disjointed from the mouth that had suddenly appeared in front of Jay. "There's a party, but you can crash if you need to, plenty of room at the den."

Jay tried to focus, but the face swam in and out of view. What few glimpses the boy could process were full of teeth, and scales, and thorns. From somewhere within the boy was a voice that demanded to live, that recognize the mortal danger that was he was in. Out of the corner of his eye, Jay saw a policeman standing at the mouth of the alley. The cop was facing them. Jay turned to run towards the cop and safety, but was stopped in his tracks by the tongue of the creature which manage to whip lash out like a lizard's and grab him by the neck. The policeman flinched, then ducked his head and turned away, facing the traffic instead of the alley.

The demon pulled back his tongue, holding the boy around the shoulders. "Dude. We're going party. No worries. Everything is gonna be all right," and with that the monster led the boy deeper into the dark alley.

For once Buffy was having a nice dream. She, Willow, Xander, and Giles were all ice-skating. But not on a rink; somewhere out in the woods and the moon was shining and there was snow and peace and grace. There was a small stand of bleachers next to the pond, and her mom and dad, Jenny Caladar, Angel, Oz, Cordelia, Anya, Dawn, Spike and her biology teacher, darn she couldn't remember his name but he had been really nice to her, were drinking hot chocolate and talking amiably. Jenny whispered something to Angel, and he laughed softly. The serenity was broken by a loud noise, at first Buffy thought the ice was cracking but then it turned into a bell...the shop bell? no, the telephone... and with that thought Buffy was awake and reaching for the phone. "Mmmm...yellow?" she mumbled.

"Buffy? Buffy is that you?" the voice was distantly and far away, but unmistakable.

"Giles?" Buffy ventured.

"Oh, dear, did I wake you up? I checked the time and it should be 1:30 in the afternoon in Sunnydale." Giles was polite but the message was in the subtext. You should be up and doing something productive.

"I'm up..." Buffy shook herself awake. "Giles! This is a surprise...which leads me to the only natural question...is the world going to end?"

Giles laughed, "Oh, my no, nothing like that. Rather good news, actually. The Council is having me transcribe my diaries - do tell Willow - she would be proud - into their computer system."

Buffy was confused. Giles never cared much for computers. "Oh, well, goody. And this merits an across the ocean phone call?"

"No, I, ah, have also been asked, by the Council, to have you document your experiences as they are related to the Hellmouth. It's really quite an extraordinary project. No Slayer has ever put down her experiences on paper before, or should I say computer?"

"Giles, I'm still trying really hard to understand this. You're calling me to tell me I've got homework? And I should be glad why?"

Giles could not supress the glee in his voice, "Because they're going to pay you!"

"Is this a joke? I told you along time ago Giles, I fight them, I kill them, they're dead. End of story."

"Buffy, you have an opportunity to add to the Council's knowledge as no one has ever done before. The stipend is quite handsome...you won't be rich, but expenses will be covered - perhaps with enough left over to pay for Dawn's college...and your's. Believe, me, they can afford it."

"Stipend equals money?" asked Buffy. "And I just have to write down what I've done?"

"Perhaps..." said Giles with just the slightest hesitation in his voice, "perhaps Willow could assist you. Her knowledge of the mystical is profound, and I'm sure her recall is excellent. How- how is Willow?" He was five thousand miles away, but Buffy was almost sure she could hear the sound of Giles pulling a hankerchief out of his pocket to clean his glasses. "I'm asking, because, well we - we exchanged harsh words before I left."

"She didn't mention it," said Buffy honestly. "About what?"

"Oh, you know, the magic, getting out of hand as it was..." his voice trailed off.

"That," answered Buffy. "I think it's getting better, Giles, I really do. We did have one strange thing happen. Last night Spike got sick-no-wait, it's not funny. He had this enormous temperature, he was delirious. We had to put him in an ice bath...and he melted it." And once again Buffy automatically kept something from her Watcher - the fact that Willow had conjured the ice that had saved the vampire. But it was really more an omission than a lie. "He seems better now, weak. But have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"Hmmm. No, except for poison...or a curse. I'll try to look into it as time permits. Have you asked Willow for help? She was alway wonderful in finding information."

"She knows. I guess we'll get together tonight and see what we can dig up. He was-" she said, referring to Spike, "it was bad."

"Oh, and one more thing," Giles interuppted, not terribley concerned about Spike's health, "I've got an email address. Jot it down and give it to Willow. You know, I don't know why I disliked computers so much. They're really quite marvelous things. But I can keep in touch with her, and she work with you then send me the transcripts."

"I'm on it. Giles?" Buffy asked.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Are you okay? You've said Willow about a hundred times in this conversation. "Is there something wrong?"

"What? Heavens, of course not. Why whatever do you mean? It was natural, considering the conversation, computers and such. I'll send the paperwork to you soon, from the Council regarding the stipend." Giles clucked nervously.

"Okey-dokey. Sorry." Buffy said, still not sure what was wrong with her Watcher, but feeling that something was just not right. Still, the stipend could take a ton of pressure off her back. Maybe not rich, but nice with the food and electricity and running water. "Hey, Giles. Thank you. I mean it."

Giles voice softened just a tad, "You deserve so very much more Buffy. I'll talk to you soon. Good-by."

There was a click, then an audible hum. Giles put down the receiver and slapped his hand to forehead. "Bloody fool. She's right. You did say Willow a hundred times. What is wrong with you?" Giles shook his head. Well, its only natural isn't it? Talking about someone...when you're in love with them. Giles peered into an ornate window hung on the rich wood paneling of his personal library. "You bloody idiot," he said in disgust. "You're not really in love with the girl. Its just that, working together for so long, you learned to read each other, accomodate each other. She was brilliant, organized, gifted. Its only natural you'd miss such a wonderful working relationship." Then snippet of song played in Giles head: "I've grown accostomed to your face," from My Fair Lady. "Oh, marvelous," Giles thought, rolling his eyes. "I'm turning into Henry Higgins. I just haven't adjusted to working alone, is all. In love with Willow? Nonsense." He stared at himself again in the mirror, gathered himself, lifted his chin and said, "I just won't think about it. It's absurd, really," he paused then said, almost convincingly, "Well, I'm glad that's over."

"And it was strange...he kept bringing your name up," Buffy said. Xander, Anya, and Willow were seated around the dining room table. "I think its because he's having to work on computers...they always made him nervous."

"I'll e-mail him tonight. That's neat what he said about the Council paying you for the Buffy Chronicles," smiled Will.

Xander looked at Willow, then Buffy. "Ok. Giles called. And the real purpose of this meeting is?"

Buffy took a breath, "Spike. Whatever happened last night was bad. We have to find out if someone tried to poison him, or put a curse on him. Who would want to put a curse on Spike?"

Xander, Willow, and Anya shrugged then held up their hands. Buffy, slowly, put hers up too. "Okay, let me re-phrase that. Do we know anyone outside this room that would want to kill him? Wait, that's still not right--"

"We get what you mean, Buffy," said Xander. "But no, outside of us and everyone he's ever met, I can't think of a soul that would want to kill him."

"Is he clear headed now?" asked Anya. "If he is lucid, perhaps he can tell us something."

"That's a good idea, sweetheart. Its Sunday, the sun is shining, and we need to go hang out in a tomb," said Xander unhappily. 

"Xander's right. I can go talk to him," offered Buffy. Uh-oh. Alone with Spike was not a good idea. "Willow? Do you want to come with me?"

"Sure. I was going to do laundry and dust my room, but visiting a crypt sounds way more fun."

"Then," said Buffy brightly, "this meeting is adjourned."

The demon laughed, well, demonically. "That's right, brought you another one for the power pack." He was standing in a dark, circular room. Wisps of energy as faint as dream-bound screams darted around the walls. Two smaller creatures dragged the boy Jay to his feet, then as one tilted his head back, the other poured some vile black liquid down his throat. Artok laughed again. "See? I told you we were gonna party. Everybody parties at the den." And just as Jay slid to the floor and drifted into his own personal nightmare, he saw that there were a dozen other kids in the room and lying on the floor, locked inside some personal, silent terror.

A shadow fell on the room from an opened door. "Whoa. I get a rush just breathing the air in here," said the figure. "Their energy...just amazing."

"Well, they're sure not going anywhere, boss. Not now. Not ever." It was almost a game between Artok and his employer, this exchange.

"Well. You never know. They might. I think you better..." he paused playfully, then they both spoke in unison, "Rack 'em up!" 

Rack slapped his minion on the back. "There's plenty of hooks and wires in the basement. Get those units down there by tonight," he said, nodding his head at the people littering the floor. "Got to keep making the product, my man. Supply and demand, Artok, old buddy, supply and demand. Makes the world go 'round."

The two lesser demons dragged the semi-conscious boy downstairs. It was only a half a dozen stairs, but it opened up to hell on earth. Jay blinked, and the black that obscured his eyes began to fade. At least a hundred people, mostly teens but a dozen or so older people, were lying in neat rows on metal tables. Each person had wires running through the holes that had once held their eyes. Jay began to struggle more violently now, but the drug that had been poured down his throat had done its work. It was an elixir that would paralyze the body, slow its metabolism down so the victim would live, for weeks, without food or water. The boy weakened, his voice giving out a low moan of terror. The demons hoisted him up to an empty table. The first one strapped the boy down with restraints across his chest, legs, and arms. "Now. This might hurt a bit…" grinned the demon as he picked up two wires attached to the a small box fixed to the edge of the table. "Actually, this is going to hurt A LOT!" The demon plunged the thin, sharp wires through the boy's eyes, one in each socket, and with a final shove, into the deepest part of his brain. Jay screamed, then fell silent. The other monster flicked a rocking chair switch at the end of the wires. The boy stiffened as current entered one wire and looped through the other one. "Mama…so…sorry…" he whispered, and that was the last sane thought he would ever have.

"Xander! Xander come quick! There is something horribly wrong!" shrieked Anya.

Xander ran breathlessly up the stairs from the training room, taking the steps two at a time. "Anya! What is it? Vampires? Honey?"

Anya was standing in the middle of the Magic Box, holding her inventory and shaking violently. "Worse. Oh, by all the pestilential gods, so much worse! Things are missing. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, coins, amulets. Someone has been stealing from me. If I could have my powers back for just one minute…it would be a blood bath!" she hissed.

"Whoa, love of my life. No wishing for evil powers. Now just calm down, hand me the paper, and show me what the problem is." Xander gently tried to pry the paperwork from Anya's fingers, but her grasp was amazingly strong. "Okay. You keep the paper. Sit down and show me what's missing."

Anya sunk into a chair at the research table. "Look. Here's the list. None of these items are in the store, and yet there are no sales receipts accounting for them being purchased." Anya's eyes narrowed in anger and loss. "There is a filthy thief in our midst and I'm going to find out who it is."

"Anya. Be reasonable. The Magic Box has a lot of traffic in it. And an amazing number of demon attacks. Its like the store is painted with a gigantic bull's eye on the front and a sign: Come on in! Bust the place up! We don't mind, really! Shoplifting is a problem every store faces."

"Not MY store," growled Anya. "Some of these items are priceless. They weren't left out with the general stock. Whoever took my stock had access. Look. Look at this right here!" She pointed with a well manicured finger at the list. "The ring of Dante is missing!"

"And that is bad?" asked Xander. "What…Jeez, I really don't want to know this…but what does it do? Something bad? Its something bad, isn't it?"

"Bad? Bad? It only opens up the Nine Circles of Hell, that's all. Is that bad enough for you?"

"Rut-row," Xander said, "Here we go again."

"Hey. Look. He's sitting up. He's feeling better. He's…reading??" Buffy said surprised. And sure enough, Spike was sitting in his chair, a blanket on his lap and a book in his hand.

"So? It's not like I don't know how." Spike responded, a bit miffed at Buffy's shock.

"What ya reading?" The Slayer asked, trying to glimpse the title.

Spike closed the book and slipped it under the blanket, out of sight. "What do you think? Biker Chicks in Chains. What else would Spike read?" he replied, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Porn." Buffy shrugged. "Figures." Buffy went to the icebox and opened it. "Somebody hasn't had their vitamins today." And sure enough the human blood Buffy had left for Spike earlier that day was still untouched.

Spike rose from his chair, still feeling weak, but able to bluff his way over to Buffy. "I said I wasn't hungry. Damn it, Buffy. I just want some peace and quiet."

Willow couldn't help herself. While Spike's back was turned, she snuck a peak at the book under the blanket. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was Boethius' The Consolation of Philosophy, a medieval work from the 6th century. Willow let out a low whistle. This was very heavy stuff and most un-Spike like.

"I'm not leaving until you drink something. This is ridiculous Spike."

Spike glared at Buffy, then pushed past her to the refrigerator. He pulled the door open, but reached past the blood Buffy had brought. Behind it was a cup of pig's blood. He grabbed the cup, lifted it as a toast to the Slayer, then downed it in one gulp. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic." 

"So what do I owe the honor of this visit?" inquired the vampire.

"Buffy was worried about you," Willow piped in.

Buffy glared at Willow. "Not worried exactly, but concerned. Anything that can knock you on your ass that hard could be a problem for all of us."

"Think nothing of it. Just a touch of vampire flu. All better now, see?" This entire conversation had become intolerable to Spike. Just having the two women so close to him, their scent, their hearts beating, their blood pulsing, was making him feel dizzy again. Dizzy and sick to his stomach. The blood he had just swallowed was churning in his gut. He vamped out, eyes glaring and face twisted. "Just leave! Get out!"

Now Buffy was getting angry. "We were just trying to help. Fine. Rot here for all I care." And with that she stalked out of the crypt. Willow followed, more hesitantly. She paused at the door and looked back. Spike was vomiting up the blood he had just consumed. Concern was etched on her face, but she knew the vampire wanted no sympathy. She quietly closed the door to the tomb and caught up with Buffy.

"Boy. You try to help some people and what kind of thanks do you get? Bumpy faces, that's what you get," Buffy fumed.

"Buffy, something is really wrong with Spike. I don't know what it is…"

"Not enough porn, probably," Buffy snapped. For some reason the idea of Spike ogling nude photos of women was really bothering her.

"It wasn't porn, Buffy," Willow said. "It was philosophy. By a guy from the Middle Ages named Boethius. He was in prison, waiting for his execution when he wrote it. I haven't read it, mind you, but I've heard of it…and him."

"That's weird," said Buffy.

"It's even weirder," added Willow. "It was written in Latin."

"Spike can read Latin?" Buffy asked incredulously. "How can Spike read Latin? I can't read Latin." And for some reason this accomplishment was beginning to bug the Slayer.

"Well, remember, Buffy, Spike was raised in the 19th century. In the upper classes. Most well-educated men of the time could read Latin…Greek, too.

"The only Latin I know is 'et tu Brute' from that play…"

"Julius Caesar?"

"Yeah, that's the one. I think. Maybe." Buffy shook her head, and added, "I skipped entirely too much sophomore English in high school."

"Yeah, that whole 'saving the world' thing can wreck a girl's education!" 

Then Willow added brightly, "But, of course, we're really glad you did!"

Dawn called up the stairs, "Buffy? Willow? Anyone?" Where is everybody. Off doing something exciting, no doubt, and what am I doing? Nothing, of course. Yeah, right Will, I'm a junior Scoob. So tired of being left out of everything. Dawn's thoughts were interrupted by the telephone.

"Hello?" Dawn answered.

"Dawn? Xander. Uh, Anya is having a major melt down. Is Buffy there?"

"Nope. And I don't know where she is, either. What's the matter with Anya?"  
"She finished reconciling her inventory, and there's a bunch of stuff missing. She's convinced someone in our crowd has sticky fingers."

Dawn blinked, furiously trying to think her way out of this disaster. "Gosh, gee, I don't know. Why would she think any one of us would—"

"Most of the stuff that's missing isn't out front. Jewelry, mostly. But some of the stuff is really valuable, some of its dangerous. Anyway, tell the Buffster to give me a call."

"Yeah, sure," Dawn said absently. She hung up the phone and raced up the stairs. There was only one person who could help her out in this mess. Spike. She grabbed her treasure box, tucked it into her jacket pocket, then raced down the stairs and out of the house.

"Spike?" Dawn called out from the entrance. "You home?"

Spike looked up from his reading, genuinely glad to see the girl. "Hello, Niblet. You know, you're the only person that has the courtesy not to burst in here like I didn't exist."

"You feeling better?" She asked.

"I don't know. I really honestly don't. Head's been hurting something awful, down deep inside, but the fever's gone, anyway." Spike watched the girl fidgeting around the room. "Okay, out with it. Something's wrong, so's you might as well 'fess up and let Uncle Spike help."

"You promise not to hate me? I did something bad."

"I like bad, remember?" he said, smiling at his friend.

Dawn pulled the small wooden box from her pocket, opened it and removed the hidden compartment. "This kind of bad?" she said, shaking the jewelry out into her hand.

Spike let out a low whistle. "That's Magic Box stuff, isn't it? I can tell by the tags on 'em. You have been a naughty girl. So why all the panic now?"

"Anya knows things are missing…and she knows it has to be someone with access to the stuff that's not out on the shelves."

Spike cocked his head, looking at Dawn closely. "So you've got to hide your little-bad doings, eh?"

"Uh, yeah?" Dawn replied hopefully. 

"At think first we need to understand why you are so greedy for these little baubles. Given any thought to that?"

Dawn's face was a study in confusion. "I-I don't know why I take things. I just see something and I want it so much."

"Maybe someone feel's left out? Missing her mum and no matter how hard big sister tries, its just not the same? Its payback, isn't it, Chicklet? They ignore you, all wrapped up in their Scoobie lives, and here you are, so alone and sad – and they don't even notice, do they?"

"Yeah, maybe…" Dawn said doubtfully. That was part of it…but she wasn't sure if that was the whole story.

Spike narrowed his eyes. There's more to this. "Aaannndddd, you get scared, too, don't you? That nasty bit with Glory. You're looking for protection, too, aren't you pet?" Still something missing from the puzzle. "Angry, too? It's ok. I've been angry for a very long time, kind of like it, I do."

"What are you mad about?" asked Dawn.

"Ah, that's ancient history, and boring at that."

Dawn settled down on the arm of Spike's chair. "I want to know. Tell me, please?"

Spike sighed. There was no refusing the Little Bit anything. After Joyce, she was the only one who treated him like a…well, like a human being. With respect. Kindness. Affection. In a way, a brotherly way, mind you, Dawn meant more to him than Buffy. "When I was growing up, before I was turned, we had a hard time. We were upper middle class, not rich, but then my father made some bad investments. Lost everything. He couldn't handle it, left home a week before my kid sister was born. My poor mum. Ladies didn't work in those days, wasn't respectable, you see. So she did what she could to keep us together, fine needle work for ladies, piano lessons for people in the neighborhood."

"Can you play piano?" Dawn asked.

"Could once upon a time, haven't tried in…years. Anyway, we lost my sister when she was three, flu it was. Mum wasn't quite the same after that. But she taught and she sewed and managed to get me a decent education. Every summer I was sent to some distant relatives for a fortnight (that's two weeks to you, pet), rich relatives, that had to take me in for the visit. But they never let me forget, in that poncy English way…that I was beneath them…" he finished, a tad more bitterly than he had intended. "I think I've been pissed off ever since." He smiled gently at the girl.

"What happened to your mother?" Dawn asked.

Spike looked away. "She died," he answered abruptly. "I don't want to talk about that."

"I'm sorry, Spike. It sounds like you had a hard time growing up." Dawn squeezed his hand.

"Yeah, well, plentys had worse than me. Now. About your problem," he said, looking at her stolen goods. "You're not going to like what I have to say. But you need to tell Buffy, give the stuff back. You don't know what all you got there…and hey!" He said with sudden realization. "That whole music mess…you stole that necklace that brought Sweet to Sunnydale!"

Dawn ducked her head in embarrassment, then defended herself, "But it was Xander who summoned him."

"Yeah, well, we know Harris is an idiot. Don't get off topic, luv."

"I can't tell Buffy, Spike. She'll kill me."

"No. She won't. Anya might, but Buffy? Never. You want me to talk to her? Buffy, I mean, not Anya."

Dawn looked at him hopefully. "Would you? I can't tell her. I just can't," she wailed.

Spike couldn't repress a smirk, "I kinda like it when Buffy gets mad at me. You run along home, pet. I'll get out tonight, bring the stuff back to the shop." He held up a star cut ruby ring set in silver. "Can't say as I blame you, tho'. Pretty, some of this lot is."

End of "Empathy" Part III

by Momkat

"Empathy" Part IV 

by Momkat

"Hello, darlin'," Rack purred, stroking Amy's dark hair. "I need a little favor. Go fetch my strawberry. I think she can help me find something I'm looking for."

"Willow?" Amy asked, although she already knew the answer.

"Yeah, that's her name. My sweet little strawberry."

Amy looked away, then said, "She - she won't come here anymore. Her friends are trying to get her off magic."

Rack burst out laughing. "Honey, its easier to quit a 3 pack a day 20 year smoking habit than to drop the mojo. Maybe I should just pay her a visit myself. Talk some sense into her, if you know what I mean-but I really don't have time for that." He pursed his lips, thinking. "Mmm. Tell you what. Remember this?" he pointed to an ancient drawing of the Star of Dante. "That's what I'm looking for." Then he growled, grabbing her by her hair and twisting her neck viciously. "You get the bitch here. Or I'll hook you up to my little battery charger down stairs.

Amy was speechless with terror. She quickly nodded her head. Rack kissed her then, his thick tongue almost choking the girl. "TTFN," he said cheerily, then let her go. Amy stumbled, then caught herself and fled out the door.

Rack chuckled. "Women. Gotta love 'em."

Amy raced down the street, heart beating so hard she thought it might burst. "Buffy's house. Willow's at Buffy's house," she repeated to herself like some kind of mantra. She dodged traffic, zipping in between cars. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the Summers' home. She banged frantically on the door.

"Oh. It's you," said Dawn coldly. "What do you want?"

"Willow," gasped the witch. "I've got to find Willow."

Dawn did not like Amy and had no intention of giving her any information. "She's not here. I don't know where she is." As Dawn began to close the door, Amy let out a mournful cry.

"Please, Dawnie, please tell me."

"You don't call me that. Only my friends call me that."

"Damn you," screeched Amy, "Veritas!" she exclaimed, demanding the truth from Dawn. "Where is Willow?"

Dawn's eyes glazed over, under the spell Amy had cast. "Willow is at the Magic Box."

Without another word, Amy spun around and headed toward Anya's shop. She had seen what was in Rack's basement, and right now she would sell her own soul to avoid it. What Amy didn't realize is...she already had. As Spike had said long ago, "Magic has consequences." And it has a price.

At the Magic Box, Anya was pacing furiously. "My money. My goods. My money. How dare anyone steal from me?" Xander wisely kept his mouth shut for once.

The door bell gave a little tinkle and Buffy and Willow walked in.

"Dawn has a headache, she won't be here," volunteered Buffy. "So? What's the sitch?"

"The sitch, as you inanely call it, is someone has been stealing from me," declared Anya angrily, hands on hips.

Buffy, never one to back down from a challenge, "And you think its one of us?"

Anya, also no shrinking violet replied, "Yeah. I think its one of you."

Buffy took a couple of steps closer to the ex-vengence demon. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Uh, girls," Xander said as he stepped between the two women, "As much as I would like to see a cat fight between you two, you both have your clothes on, which is not part of the fantasy." He gently pushed Anya away from the Slayer.

The bell jingled again, and Spike entered the Magic Box. Anya pounced like a hungry cat. "You. You there. Him. Did you steal my merchandise?" Anya demanded.

Spike sauntered over to the table, emptying his pocket out onto it. "What? You mean this?" The amulets and jewelry glittered on the dark wooden surface of the table.

Xander exploded. "That's it. That's the last straw. You sorry son-of-a-"

"Ah-ah-ah. Watch your langauge," interuppted Spike.

Anya marched up to Spike. "Is this how you pay us back? We treated you like a friend!" she hissed.

"You treated me like dirt," Spike replied dryly. "And you still do." Spike did not even consider telling on Dawn, not for an instant. Not to this bloody pack of hyenas. He cocked his head, eyeing each of the Scoobies in turn. "You got your bleeding baubles back."

"But why, Spike?" asked Buffy.

Again the feeling of melancholy and depression descended onto the vampire. "I dunno. Guess I'm just a bad, rude man." Being around these people, these humans, was draining him. 

"You mean, you can't kill people, so you steal instead?" questioned Xander sarcastically.

"That is it, Spike," said Anya angrily. "You are banned from my store. I don't ever want to see you and your sticky fingers in here again."

The sick feeling was becoming more oppressive to Spike. He just wanted to sink down into one of the chairs, but damned if he would give that satisfaction to these wankers, including Buffy. Especially Buffy.

Willow had remained silent, but was watching the vampire carefully. She moved closer to him. On closer inspection she could see his smooth and sculpted face had grown haggard and drawn, his cheeks more hollow than usual. Spike looked like he hadn't fed for days.

"All right, Buster, out you go," and Xander grabbed the vampire by the back of his long leather coat, a trophy from a slayer he had killed many years ago.

Spike lost control and put on his game face. "Let me go!" he roared, shaking Xander off like he was no more than a child. Xander stepped back in surprise and not a little fear.

"Spike!" commanded Buffy. "You don't do that to my friends." And as she advanced on the ailing vampire he could feel his knees buckle. What ever strength he had kept in reserve had been exhausted by this confrontation. He sunk into the nearest chair, almost in a faint.

"Spike!" Buffy said again, but this time her voice was frightened. "Xander, help him downstairs. He can lie down in the training room." Xander rolled his eyes, but helped the vampire to his feet and down the stairs. The door bell announced another visitor.

The Scoobs turned around and faced Amy. She was dirty and dishelveled. Snot had dried and crusted around her nose and her hair was greasy and tangled. "Willow," she spoke pleadingly. "Please, he wants you. You have to go to him," she begged, then added, "alone."

"Uh, I think you got the message mixed up," said Buffy.

"What?" asked Amy, confused.

"The 'you must come meet the bad guy...alone' message. That's usually for me, not Will."

Amy looked at the Slayer, then dismissed her. She grabbed Willow by her arms, shaking her. "Willow you have to come. He's going to...he's going to kill me if you don't!"

Willow backed away from the witch. "No, Amy. I-I can't. Never again. I'm just feeling clean again..."

Amy wrapped her arms around Willow, whispering into her ear, "C'mon Willow. Remember how good it was? How it felt? Its all there waiting for you. He wants you so bad. He needs you. You're all he talks about..."

Buffy grabbed Amy by the arm and pulled her away from Willow. "That's enough. Leave her alone. If Rack needs to meet with someone, its going to be me. You tell him that." Amy eyes had glazed over, as if she was going into some kind of trance. Buffy slapped her across the face, hard, knocking Amy's head backwards. "You tell Rack I'll meet him, but on my terms. I'll let him know when."

Amy let out a low moan. "Oh, my God. I can't go back there without Willow. I just can't. He's going to kill me...worse than kill me."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you got involved with him," said Willow, but gently. 

Amy stepped back, snarling. "Your're in this as deep as I am, maybe deeper. Its you he wants. Wants you bad."

Willow put out her hand, "Amy. Please, we can help..."

Amy began laughing hysterically. "There's no help. Not against him. You know his power, his hunger." Her laughter became higher, more insane sounding. "Go to him, Willow. You know you want to, you know you're his little strawberry!"

And with that word, a hunger for Rack washed over Willow. Somehow he had planted a message, a command, within her brain with that one word. Willow began to walk slowly towards the door.

"Will?" asked Buffy. "Willow? No! Snap out of it!" and Buffy grabbed her friend, pulling her away from Amy and the door. "You go now Amy. Go before I show you what pain is really all about." Buffy spoke softly, but it was a voice full of menace.

Amy glanced at the table, seeing the jewelry that Spike had tossed there earlier. Her eyes instantly focused on the Star of Dante, the ruby ring that Rack was so desperate for. Maybe that information would be enough. Maybe it would be enough to save her. Amy turned and without another word, ran out the door.

Willow shook her head, trying to clear the fog that had enveloped her so quickly. Her eyes were frightened as she looked at her friends. Tears welled up in her large, blue eyes. "What am I going to do? He's so strong. Even with my magic, he's stronger than me. How do I fight him?"

"You don't," said Buffy. "I do."

Amy dashed down the street, blind to everything but getting back to Rack. She approached the area where he could usually be found, hands out, trying to sense the invisible entrance. Ahhh...there it was. She walked through the energy field and was back at the den.

Rack was laying down on a plush cushion, surrounded by several young people, both male and female. 

"Rack?" said Amy softly.

Rack opened his eyes and looked at Amy. "I don't see my little strawberry. So - what's it gonna be? AC or DC. Oh yeah, I forgot," he said with a mocking grin, "It's both."

"Wait, please, wait. I found it," groveled Amy.

"Found what--" Rack stopped and stood up, sniffing the air around her. "The ring. I can smell it on you." He seized her viciously around the shoulders, shaking her. "Tell me. Tell me Amy before I gut you."

"At the Magic Box. Its there. Right now. I saw it."

"Well of course it is!" Rack laughed delightedly. "Where else would you find a magic ring but at a magic store. I've visited that place before, incognito, of course. But I didn't sense it. But its there now, isn't it girl?" Amy nodded her agreement.

Rack wrapped a heavy arm around Amy's shoulder. "You got some power. I'm the first to admit it, sweet cheeks. Real honest to goodness hi-test premium top off the tank power."

Amy smiled tentatively. "I don't have to-have to go downstairs?" 

"Huh? Oh that. Well, yeah. You didn't bring Willow back did you? I hate to be strict like that, but I didn't get to where I am today by being a Mr. Softy, you know?"

Amy's eyes grew wide in terror. "But the ring. I found the ring."

"Yes, you did. That's why I'll make sure its quick." Rack answered. With a wave of his hand Amy vanished. She materialized on a metal table, tied down. True to his word, Rack's minion stabbed the two hot wires into Amy's eyes immediately. Her body stiffened as the current surged through her, and her teeth clamped down on her tongue, biting the tip of it off. Blood dribbled through her lips as she became another battery for Rack's power factory.

Rack stretched like a lazy cat, then he lowered himself back down onto his cushion. He grabbed a blonde girl by her hair and dragged her face up to his. "I am ready for some fun now, baby. Take care of the little man for me." He then shoved the girl's face down to his lap. "Tomorrow, tomorrow," he sang, "I love ya, tomorrow...you're always a day away..."

"Ms. Rosenberg, is it?" asked the woman seated behind the desk that was covered with piles of papers, magazines, newspapers, and other assorted junk.

"Yes, ah, Willow. I was wondering, Dr. Morgan, if I could talk to you for a minute."

"Well certainly. Have a seat." the professor smiled encouragingly. "I noticed you were at the seminar Saturday. I was, frankly, surprised at the turn out."

"Oh, you shouldn't be. Everyone there I talked to was really interested in the lecture. Which is kind of why I'm here..." Willow trailed off lamely. Why am I here? What on earth could this woman tell her about magic that Willow already didn't know?

"I noticed you were joined by a friend towards the end...a blond haired girl? Very pretty, petite?"

"Oh, yes, that's my friend Buffy. She-she's not in school right now, she's had some - personal problems and she had to drop out last year."

Dr. Morgan nodded, patiently waiting for whatever was troubling this young woman to surface. "Buffy. Cute name."

"Ummm." Willow agreed, not how to proceed.

"I have an idea," said Dr. Morgan. "Why don't you talk and I listen?" then she smiled gently.

"Well. It's what you said about magic last week in your lecture. About it being the first religion."

"Yes, in the sense of man trying to manipulate his environment. I remember."

"But you said it was a child's relgion. I'm not offended, but I am a practising Wiccan."

"Approached properly, Wicca is a beautiful religion. But Willow. Think about the Divine. It always was and always shall be. Alpha and Omega. Every religion in the world would agree with that."

"Okay."

"Now, do seriously think anyone, any human, can chant some words, wave a dead chicken around in the air, and burn some herbs and control the Divine? Do you know how pathetically arrogant that is? How dangerous?"

"Dangerous?" asked Willow.

"Extremely. The candles, the invocations, are just tools to tap into the Divine. And unnecessary tools at that. Its a case of the flea trying to control the wolf."

"I don't understand."

"There are two sources of energy. Positive and Negative. The positive is a creative force, giving life and gaining strength from the life it creates. The negative - think of it like a black hole, sucking negative energy into its maw. That negative energy comes from evil, from pain, from suffering, from hatred. I know, I sound like Yoda from 'Star Wars' which was, philosophically speaking, not that far from the mark." Dr. Morgan smiled again, then continued, "These are forces so beyond our mortal imagination...how dare we think we can control them? The costs are prohibitive, dear."

"In what way?" Willow blinked, trying to follow the woman's line of reasoning.

"Is there a culture in the world that doesn't have witches? And in every culture they are portrayed as hags, crones, even demons. That's the price of magic, dear. The corruption begins on the inside, but eventually the outer reflects that evil. You know the old saying, 'power corrupts...'

"And absolute power corrupts absolutely," Willow finished. "Have you...have you seen this yourself? Or is just from books?"

Dr. Morgan paused, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She looked at Willow, then made a decision. "I practiced magic...years ago. It almost destroyed me. As it is destroying you now."

"What?"

"Ms. Rosenberg. To someone...unfamiliar with the black arts, you would seem to be a typical college student. But to the initiated...trust me, I can tell. I faced the ultimate temptation...eternal life, eternal power in exchange for my soul. By some..." the professor hesitated, then forced herself to continue, "By some miracle I stopped myself. Then I began to look for something more powerful."

"I don't understand - what's more powerful?" asked Willow.

"Why the Divine. Mysticism. Becoming one with the creative force. Much more powerful, much more subtle than spells and candles. Instead of trying to control the Divine, you must learn let the Divine control you. Its power is unlimited, pure, and does not hurt you, if channeled for the good. Enlightenment is not an easy task, and many who dedicated their lives to the search never find it. It hits some like a bolt out of the blue, without the person even trying. For me, it took years and years of study, meditation, comtemplation...I am at peace now, Willow. Are you?"

Willow shook her head, 'no'. Then tears filled her eyes. "Can you help me?"

"I'll try," the woman said kindly. "Why don't you tell me exactly what's going on to bring you to this desperate state."

"There's...there's this man. I think he's a man. A powerful witch. He - he can increase a person's ability to do magic, he can make it not hurt - I got terrible headaches and nosebleeds whenever I practiced. Rack--"

"Is that what he calls himself now?" asked Dr. Morgan grimly.

"You - you know him?" asked Willow dumbfounded.

"A long story, and not an important one. You consider yourself an adept?"

Willow looked the woman straight in the eye. "I'm good. I'm very powerful."

"Which, no doubt, is why Rack wants you. Now answer me very honestly, Willow. Have you ever practiced magic from within your heart?"

"Huh?"

"I mean without benefit of incantations or any other aid?"

Willow remembered the time she had fought Glory - at the tower. She had sent Spike through the mob to help Dawn.

"Yes."

"You maintained control through just your thoughts?" asked Morgan.

Willow nodded her head affirmatively. "But my...my friend, my lover, Tara was with me - she is also a witch, but rarely practices. When she's with me..." and Willow's voice trailed off.

"Love. That's tapping into the Divine...in a positive way, in a way that cannot harm you. Some call it the High Magic, but I don't like the word magic, period. I always picture cavemen dancing around a fire, trying to create a successful hunt. 'Like makes like', the oldest magic, and the most used still today. What you did - helping your friends - is an affirmation of life...the most pleasing action to the Divine. And it cost you nothing, is that right?"

Willow thought back to that hellish night...Dawn bleeding, Spike nearly dead, Tara restored, but so terribly weak, Giles in shock, Anya hurt and carried by Xander...and Buffy dead. And Willow herself? Hurt, bruised, dazed, stricken by the most terrible grief imaginable, but the magic she had performed had not hurt her.

"That is the place you must return to, develop, become one with. Under extreme stress you reached it, used it or should I say it used you? But now you must learn to let that be your only avenue, your only conduit. You do not manipulate the Divine, you must let it work through you."

"But - but how?" asked Willow.

"It is different for everyone. How I achieved that spirituality...enlightenment, but that word sounds so pompous, only works for me. You must seek your own path. But you have another more serious problem. Rack. He's a cheat, you see. He offers a taste of power, he addicts people to it....then he takes it back. He has learned a way to re-channel the energy, store it, spend it at his leisure. Its not that his power is unlimited...he steals it from the young, the inexperienced, the unwary. And that's his weakness. What happens to a boiler that can't release its steam and heat?"

"It explodes."

Dr. Morgan smiled, reminding Willow of a very satisfied cat, "Exactly. And that's how you can defeat Rack."

Willow looked at the professor, her forehead wrinkled, "I have to blow him up?"

"No dear. He has to blow himself up." 

"Yes. Can I help you?" Anya asked brightly. The guy was very unpleasant looking, but as long as he has money...

"Yeah. I'm looking for a ring," Rack said pleasantly. "A very special ring. It's set with a ruby stone, cut in the shape of a star, mounted in silver."

Anya took a step back. Her mind raced furiously, trying to save herself, but more importantly, her store. Bones can heal, but destroyed stock meant higher insurance rates - again.

"Look, chickie. We can do this the easy way or the hard way," Rack growled.

"I like the hard way." Buffy was standing at the top of the stairs leading up from the training room. "As a matter of fact, I love the hard way." She moved toward Rack, her face not betraying the rage that was building in her heart.

Rack looked at the Slayer, trying to assess her threat. "You're not a witch--"

but before he could finish the sentence, Buffy interrupted him with a right cross to his jaw, knocking the heavy set man across the room.

"No, I'm not a witch. But I am a word that ryhmes with witch. Buffy hauled him up to his feet, then punched him straight in the mouth.

"Bitch," exclaimed Rack.

"On the nosey!" Buffy said, then followed that up with a punch to his nose.

"Enough!" Rack moved his hands slowly, his eyes black with dark power. Buffy flew across the room, hitting a book shelf. Rack muttered something and the Slayer was frozen in place.

"Hey, what's going on in here-" Xander had just entered the shop. "Anya, honey are you okay?" Rack glanced at Xander, and the glance hoisted him up and pinned him against the ceiling.

Anya reacted instantly. The only thing she loved more than money was Xander. She grabbed a battle axe mounted on the wall and charged at Rack. "Naughty girl," grinned Rack, waving a finger at the ex-demon. The battle ax flew out of her hands and stuck itself into the ceiling, a fraction of an inch from Xander's head. "Give me the ring," Rack commanded. He waved at the battle ax and it pulled itself out of the ceiling, hovering in front of Xander's chest. "Give me the ring or next time you're doing to see a different side of your boyfriend...the inside."

Anya flew to the secret compartment under the counter, releasing the mechanism that opened the drawer. She grabbed the Star of Dante and threw it at Rack, who caught it easily. "Tell little strawberry I dropped in," and with a laugh, the witch sauntered out of the Magic Box. As the door bell tinkled, Buffy was released from her spell, and Xander fell from the ceiling.

Anya rushed to Xander, exclaiming, "Are you all right? Xander? Honey?"

Xander pulled himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. "I really hate this town, have I ever said that before?"

Buffy stared at the closed shop door, as if she could still see Rack. "Get Willow over here. Tara, too. I want to know everything there is to know about that ring - and him."

It was a full blown Scooby meeting. Tara, Willow, Anya, and Xander were thumbing through the collection of books.

Dawn came up from the training room. "No change with Spike. He's like out of it," she said worriedly. "Delirious or something. Keeps mumbling, but it doesn't make any sense. But he's calmed down some."

Buffy nodded, but didn't know what to say. "He - I'm sure he'll be okay." I've got to focus on Rack now, not my undead lover...lover? No, not lover. Where did that come from, Buffy wondered. She pushed the errant thought away. Concentrate, Buffy! She commanded herself.

Willow had filled eveyone in on her conversation with the philosophy professor. "I just don't know how to do it...blow him up, I mean. I think - I think any magic I use would just be turned against me. He's so powerful..."

"So what do we know?" asked Buffy, pushing a strand of blonde hair away from her face.

"Fact. The Ring was crafted in the middles ages. Somehow it opens a portal between dimensions, releasing hell on earth. Or sucking earth into hell. I'm not clear on that part." Anya answered.

"Fact." continued Xander. "It was named after the Italian poet, Dante, who wrote about a trip to hell. Well, we thought it was just a travelogue, but guess he really visited."

"Fact," chimed in Tara shyly. "Dante wrote of the nine circles of hell, with Lucifer at the center. And he wrote in the vernacular. That's was very uncommon for that time period. Most literature was written in Latin. Its almost like he was writing in the common tongue so people could understand...like a warning about hell on earth."

"Fact." said Buffy. "Been there, done that. I'm really tired of hell dimensions threatening us."

"Fact," said Willow tiredly. "Its me he wants. The only way to end this is for me to go to him."

"Sounds like a plan," said Anya pertly.

"No, it doesn't! said Buffy angrily. "Willow will go. But I'm going with her."

"And me," said Tara, stroking Willow's dark red hair softly.

"And me," said Xander determindedly.

"And me, I guess," said Anya. 

"Me, too," piped in Dawn.

"No. Not you, Dawn," Buffy said. "Its too dangerous." And before the girl could protest, Buffy put her arms around her little sister. "Besides, you have to stay with Spike. The only time he's not thrashing around is when you're with him." And what's that all about, Buffy wondered, but did not voice the thought.

"Let's mount up," said Xander.

Willow and Tara held hands, moving through the darkened streets, searching for Rack's magically hidden place. The Scoobies silently followed the two witches. "Here," said Willow at last.

Tara could feel the power emanating from directly in front of Willow. "Oh, Willow," she said, her voice trembling. "Its horrible...I can feel the evil...how could you even go in there?"

Willow shook her head. "I was blind, an idiot. But I'm seeing clearly now. But Rack can't." Tara understood the message, and tightened her hold on Willow's hand. The two women closed their eyes, united on a spiritual plane. There was the smell of ozone and a hot breeze blew across the friends. "There. We can enter unseen...at least for a few minutes. After that..." she didn't finish.

"Hold hands," instructed Tara. The Slayer, Xander, Anya, Willow and Tara linked their hands, then stepped through the energy field. There were inside a round room in a dilapidated building. Streams of energy swept around their legs. Tara opened her senses, trying to lock onto Rack. "Downstairs," she whispered.

The group moved downstairs, not making a sound. What greeted their eyes was terrifying. Even Anya, who had spent a thousand years wrecking havoc on unfaithful men, was sickened by the sight. A hundred people, wired through their eye sockets, were generating a power that was almost palpable. Standing in the center was Rack, holding the ring like a child's prize. Waves of energy circled him, growing, emitting a strange humming noise. Rack turned around, his eyes like black pits, and looked straight at Willow.

"I thought I told you to come alone, strawberry." And with the word, Willow's mind blanked out again. She moved toward the magician.

"Willow, No!" shreiked Tara, making a grab for her beloved. "Willow, shake it off!"

"Hmmm. Don't believe I've had the pleasure," said Rack pleasantly, eyeing Tara. "Oh, yeah, baby, I can feel your heat. You're a red-hot mama, you are."

Three of Rack's lesser minions, led by Artok, charged the Scoobies. Buffy side kicked the one nearest her, then grabbed the second by his hairy arm, using his momentum to knock Artok off his feet. Xander punched the third one with a left hook, which apparently didn't phase the demon. Anya dropped down to all fours behind the creature, and Xander gave him a hard push. The demon fell over Anya, then crashed down the stairs.

Rack gave an amused chuckle, then raised his hand. "Enough," he commanded. And there was silence in the room. The Scoobies and the Slayer were paralyzed in place. "Well, I'm glad you could all drop in this evening," Rack continued, "especially my little strawberry here." Rack nuzzled Willow's neck, her eyes were glazed and unseeing. "And for my next trick," Rack grinned...and the Star of Dante was floating in front his face. The ring turned slowly in space, red sparks flying. It was becoming a tiny dynamo, and a harsh electrical whine was coming from it. "Can you feel it?" asked Rack. "Can you feel the fabric of time and space being pulled apart?" And the room was wavering, lights dimming, being sucked into the power of the ring. He threw he head back and laughed.

Instantly Willow's eyes cleared. She grabbed the spinning ring and shoved it into Rack's open mouth. Buffy was freed as his concentration was broken, then with all her incredible strength, launched herself across the room and hit Rack in the mouth. The blow made the magician swallow the ring.

"NO!" he roared, grabbing his stomach. "No, what have you done!" and Rack's body began warping, growing larger then shrinking back, as if he were made out of some strange kind of putty. He screamed, an agonized wail as his body began to draw inward, sucked into the black hole of hell.

"We've got to get out of here!" yelled Tara. "Now!" The Scoobies dashed up the stairs and out of the building. "Where's the portal?" Tara cried.

"Here, here, hold hands," directed Willow. The friends grabbed each other, and moved through the energy veil that had cloaked Rack's den. After they cleared it, they turned around and watched the condemned building collapse in on itself, imploding. With a sucking sound, like a clogged drain suddenly free, the building disappeared.

"How did you know?" asked Xander of Willow.

"It was something Dr. Morgan said, about negative energy being like a black hole, sucking everything into it. I figured once the ring was in motion, instead of it consuming the world, it could consume Rack - if it was inside of him." The gang was seated around the table in the Magic Box.

Tara's soft voice continued the tale, "I planted a subconcious spell-breaker in Willow's mind, to wake her up at a certain trigger-"

"Rack's laugh," Buffy said, impressed. "If he was laughing, he was winning. Smart."

Their celebration was cut short by a shrill cry from the training room. "Buffy, come quick!" Dawn cried.

They ran down the stairs. Spike was still unconcious, but his fever had returned and was hotter than the last time.

"Mother!" he cried out, then, "I'm sorry!" He was still for a moment, then a torrent of grief took hold of the vampire. He writhed in agony, crying out in pain, in sorrow, in fear.

Buffy knelt down to him, pressing her hand to his forehead. She looked at her friends, at a loss to know what to do. Dawn knelt down beside her. She stroked his fevered cheek. Spike seemed to relax a little, his thrashing slowing, until he was completely still.

"Buffy, should we do the ice thing again?" offered Willow.

Buffy shook her head 'no'. "I can feeling the fever leaving... Spike? Tell us what to do. How we can help."

"No," Spike whispered. "Please...just leave me alone...let me die. I deserve to die. I deserve...so much worse than death." He closed his eyes and turned his face to the wall.

"Spike?" Buffy said softly. "Spike, can you hear me?" The vampire offered no reply. Buffy stood up and faced her friends. "I - I don't know what to do. How to help. Tara? Willow?" 

The two friends stared at Buffy, also at a loss to explain the vampire's illness.

Xander spoke, "You know, this reminds me of something...but its crazy."

Buffy turned to her friend, so much like the big brother she never had. "What? Think, Xander."

Xander paused not sure how to continue. "Well, its kinda like, you know when Angel got his soul back...he was all tortured and guilty like. Spike's acting like Angel."

There was a deep silence with those words...then a roar from the mat where Spike was lying. 

"Bloody hell! Bloody hell if I'll be compared to that poncy, prancing, billowing, poofta of a vampire!" And Spike was on his feet, eyes blazing. "Everybody. Everybody out!" He commanded. "Except you!" he pointed at Buffy. The Scoobies, surprisingly, obeyed his order and trooped up the stairs.

"Feeling better?" Buffy asked.

"I feel like bloody hell. But damned if I'll ever be compared with Angel and his stupid pointy hair. I've got some pride, you know. Uh-oh." and Spike leaned against the Slayer.

"You're still weak. Lie down." Buffy helped him back to the mat on the floor. Buffy laid down next to him, then kissed him gently on the lips. "Spike...do you have any idea what is happening to you?"

Spike was silent for a moment. "She's still the key, you know."

Buffy stared at Spike. "Dawn? No, no Spike, that's over, don't say that."

Spike's face was thoughtful and there was a long pause before he spoke. "Not that way, pet. Not the hell bitch way. But this started...this illness...started when I walked Dawn home the other night. She kissed me on the cheek, in a sisterly way, mind you, and then this all started."

"What? What started?" asked Buffy, puzzled.

"William's back. I won't use the word soul, but he's here, inside of me somehow. Making me remember what I've done, the walking nightmare known as Spike. It's like a war is going on inside me. Somehow Dawn opened up that part of me...the William part. I think I have a concious now, Buffy," Spike said softly, sadly. "Do you know what its like - to have done the things I've done - and care?"

And with that simple statement, the Slayer's heart melted. She was the Chosen One, after all, body and soul dedicated to fighting evil, destroying the powers of darkness. Her torment had been reconciling the growing love she felt for Spike, and the Slayer spirit which demanded his destruction. The tension she always felt around Spike was ebbing, washing away. She kissed his mouth gently, barely touching his lips. She shrugged out of her jacket, then kicked off her shoes. She nestled herself closer to him.

"Hmmm." Spike mused. "I'm feeling a bit stronger, luv."

"How strong?" whispered Buffy.

Spike pushed her onto her back, then lowered himself on top of her. "Oh, strong enough to make love to you." And he did.

"Empathy" - The End

by Momkat


End file.
